trigger
by psychedelic aya
Summary: No matter how Shinichi weighs his options, he knows his choice. – shinichi/ran, set in the future.


**notes **I have never written Shinichi/Ran before, but this idea has been with me ever since I watched the live action series. Critique is appreciated.

**thanks** To my lovely Liraru, who beta'd this for me.

/

**trigger**

/

Shinichi woke up with a gasp, sucking in air quickly as he jolted to a sitting position. Cold sweat dripped from his brow. He couldn't remember his dream, but he knew what it was about. _Not again_, was all he could think, as he removed the blanket off him and threw his legs over the side of the bed. He buried his face into his hands.

_Shit._

He checked the clock. In the dim light, the red led display seemed urgent as it blinked 5:30 AM – but Shinichi knew better. He didn't need to clock in at the station 'til 9. It was too early to wake up, but too late to fall asleep again.

He let out a long sigh. _Not that I can sleep after that._

"Shinichi?" a soft voice spoke from behind him. He could hear the rustling of blankets and the creaking of the mattress' springs. "Why are you up so early?"

"It's nothing, Ran," he turned towards her and saw her rubbing sleepy eyes. Her face was fresh from sleep; her lips were dry and her cheeks were puffed, and from under the blanket he could just make out the smoothness of her nape and –

Shinichi turned away. "I'll go make some coffee."

/

The gunshot was louder than usual; it was all he could hear. He doesn't remember anything before it. His ears rung and it was hard to concentrate. He moved automatically but everything around was stubborn – it was as if the world was in a trance, progressing in slow motion.

Ran fell to the ground, and he was scared he didn't make it in time.

/

"You had that dream again," it was a statement, not a question. She knew him too well.

Shinichi looked up from his hunched position on the sofa. There was his wife, in a simple white tee and pajama shorts that had bears on them. She looked completely adorable, he thought, except for the serious scrunch of her eyebrows and the obvious purse of her lips. "I don't remember it anymore," he half-lied, because even though he always _knows_, he never does remember.

Ran looked unconvinced. "You don't have to pretend," she said, her voice soft and serious. "Do you want to talk about it?"

Shinichi didn't answer her immediately; instead, he glanced towards the untouched coffee mug sitting atop the table in front of him. The steam rising from it reminded him of the smoky haze after gunfire. If he thought hard enough, he could hear the loud crack that came after the trigger was pulled.

He felt a headache coming.

Ran stared at him as he stared at the coffee mug, and Shinichi had half a mind to just ask her to leave him alone.

"No," he said instead, his voice rough and low. Ran didn't waver at his negative response; she took a few steps towards him, but didn't go close enough to invade his personal space. Instead, she lifted her hand above the coffee mug and waved the steam away.

/

He had no choice, he kept on telling himself. It was this or Ran.

He ran over his options several times. There had to be another way. There was only one truth, but several ways to get there. All his life, he prided himself on keeping a clean track record regarding this. He swore to himself. He swore to himself he would never, ever, ever –

"Shinichi!"

"I'm here, Ran!"

The killer was laughing so loudly Shinichi wanted nothing more than to shut him up. How did he let it come to this? The case began so simply. A series of kidnapped and murdered women. Three major suspects. Two were taken to the station for questioning. The next morning Ran called and said she was going to bring his lunch but she never arrived, and the most recent kidnapped woman's body was found dead in a river. Shinichi remembers her like he remembers every body: eyes lifeless and dead, pale white skin and long hair, black as the night. She could be Ran. Ran could be her.

/

"Shinichi?"

He felt something soft press up to him, breaking his reverie. Ran had closed the distance between them and curled up next to him on the sofa, her feet tucked under her and her head snuggling into the crook of his neck. Her warmth was welcome, and he felt his thoughts clear up a little.

He put his arm around her, not trusting himself to speak.

_She could be Ran. _Every time, he reminded himself of this. A woman's dead body. Lifeless eyes. Pale skin. Long black hair. Faceless.

But when he blinks, it's always Ran.

_Ran could be her._

_/_

There is less than twenty meters between Shinichi and the psycho serial killer. There is less than twenty meters between Shinichi and Ran.

Nothing is around them. The killer has taken him to an open space. There are no walls to bounce from, no crates to kick, no pipes to throw. There is nothing.

Back-up will be coming in ten minutes.

He can stall for ten minutes. It'll probably work.

But Ran will probably be dead.

Shinichi stared at his gun, two feet away from him, thrown away at the killer's request. He rarely used that gun. He doesn't want to use it. But as he runs out of options, he considers –

/

"I remember," Ran began gently, "When we were in highschool…"

Shinchi raised an eyebrow. "Pre-Conan?"

The comment made Ran let out a small laugh. "Yes, pre-Conan," she agreed. She sat unmoving against him, her head still on his shoulder. He could feel her breath on his neck as she spoke. "When we went on a trip. You told me that no matter what, you would never kill a person. You would always choose your morals."

Shinchi remembered that conversation. Ran was quite the romantic, even then, and she tried to ask him if he would betray that principle for her.

He had said no.

"What I'm trying to say," she continued, "is that… I know you. And that's why I would have understood, Shinichi." She finally looked to him, craning her neck upwards so she could properly see his face. Her movement revealed her nape, and Shinichi caught a full-view of the deep knife wound that nearly killed her.

"If you had chosen your morals," and she gave him her best smile, the smile he thought he would never see again had he not pulled the trigger, "I wouldn't have loved you any less."

/

There had to be another – fucking – way.

As the suspect plunged the knife into Ran's throat, Shinichi's body moved on its own. His hand reached for his gun.

There wasn't.

/

"No," Shinichi rasped, tracing the knife scar on her neck, pulling her in, "I'd always choose you."

/

_FIN - 121912_


End file.
